THE  ]  IBRARY 


[HE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL IFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 

PAUL  TURNER,  U.S.M.C.R. 

KILLED  IN  ACTION,  SAIPAN 

JUNE,  1944 


^  *v-4*+St'+ 


TO  DONNIE 

Oh,  Donnie  dog,  bonnle  dog ; 

I  love  ye  lang  an'  well ; 
Ne'er  can  I  let  me  heart  forget 

The  airs  ye  gave  yoursel'. 

Ye'd   walk  beside   me,   sober-stepi., 

Or  gambol  on  beyond, 
An'  oft  upon  me  breast  ye've  leapt 

AVi'    eager   bark   an'    fond. 

Your  merry  een  they'd  look  at  me 

Wi'  mischief  all  adance  ; 
Your  brush   wad   wave   itsel"   in  glee 

Did  I  return  the  glance. 

Ah,    Donnie    dog,    bonnie    dog ; 

I   miss  your  patt'ring  feet; 
An'    when    they    said,    "Puir    Donnie's    dead," 

1  couldna  help  but  greet ! 

W.   <J.  R. 


TWILIGHT 

AND  OTHER  VERSE 


Ctotltgflt 

AND    OTHER    VERSE 


By  WALTER  CLARKE  RODMAN 


PHILADELPHIA 

for  flrtoate  Circulation 
By  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 
1915 


COPYRIGHT,   IQIS,  BY   WALTER   CLARKE   RODMAN 


PS 


To 
L.  N.  R. 

TO  ONE  WHOSE  GENTLE  SPIRIT  IS  TO  MINE 
COMPANION  STILL,  THOUGH  SIGHT  AND  TOUCH  NO  MORE 
MAY  RECOGNIZE  HER  PRESENCE,  I  DEVOTE 
AND  DEDICATE  THIS  RECORD  OF  MY  THOUGHTS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Twilight 9 

Faith's  April -. 10 

Lost,  A  Day 11 

Angels 12 

The  Word  Eternal 13 

Faith  and  the  Voice 14 

His  Narrow  Way IS 

Ask  Him 16 

Grapes,  or  Wild  Grapes? 17 

Jesus  Wept 18 

In  Adria 19 

At  Bethany 21 

Esther 22 

Hannah 22 

Mary 23 

Out  of  Doors  in  the  Holy  Land 24 

At  the  Cross  Roads 25 

Old  and  New  Year 26 

The  Coral  Isles 27 

Grass,  Leaves  and  Wistaria 28 

The  Sunset  Sea 29 

Sleep 30 

Christmas 31 

The  Greatest  of  These 32 

Compensation 33 

Faith  Effective 34 

Seeing  and  Believing 35 

The  Trysting  Place 36 

May  Time 37 

The  Cipher 38 


Contents 

PAGE 

The  Philosopher 39 

The  Last  Mosquito 40 

My  Sweetheart,  Spring 41 

To  Mother  at  Seventy 42 

Lovers'  Hearts 43 

Stolen  Sweets 44 

The  Mound 45 

Across  the  Table 46 

Home's  Queen 47 

At  Midnight 48 

Lasting  Love 48 

The  Clock  Strikes 49 

Away 50 

March  Winds 51 

Madonna 52 

Night  and  Morning 53 

Loved  and  Lost  Awhile 54 

Forgiven,  not  Forgotten 55 

Petition 56 

A  Rhyme  of  Days 56 

When  I  Pass  On 58 

Finis?..,                                                                                      .  59 


TWILIGHT 

SOFT  shadows  gather  in  the  afternoon; 

And  as  the  mellow  sunlight  wanes  and  fades, 

There  comes  a  grateful  stillness. 

Twilight  falls, 

And  Nature,  in  her  myriad  motherly  ways 
Invites  to  peace  and  quiet. 

Oh  how  sweet 

Is  rest,  contented  rest,  when  work  is  done! 
No  more  the  burden  of  the  blinding  day; 
No  more  the  tiring  task,  the  anxious  thought, 
The  restless  longing  and  the  feverish  haste; 
No  more  the  greed  of  praise,  the  fear  of  blame; 
No  more  the  care,  the  worry — nay,  no  more 
Of  anything  that  frets;  only  sweet  rest. 

How  hushed  the  air;  the  earth,  how  strangely  still; 
But  see,  there  faintly  glints  a  friendly  star, 
That  brighter  glows  each  moment,  as  'twould  say, 
"Fear  not  the  night,  I'll  bide  and  watch  with  thee." 


FAITH'S  APRIL 

ONE  dreary  April  day,  Spring  dropped  asleep 
And  dreamt  of  Winter;  and  in  tender  showers 
Fell  unrestrained  her  tears,  till  bird-voiced  May 
With  cheery  carol  chased  the  dream  away. 
Then  Spring  delighted  woke,  forgot  to  weep, 

And  smiling,  crowned  her  blest  ally  with  flowers. 

Faith's  April  'tis,  when  bold  in  dreams,  unsought, 
Called  from  the  wintry  past  she  knows  not  how, 
Doubts  conquered  once,  in  wild  rebellion  throng. 
Faith  weeps  in  fear,  but  Hope,  with  soulful  song 
Routs  the  grim  troop,  and  Faith  with  flowers  of  thought, 
Glad,  pure  and  holy,  decks  her  sister's  brow. 


10 


LOST,  A  DAY 

"LOST,  lost,  lost,  a  day 
Out  of  my  life  on  earth. 

Ho,  crier,  haste  and  clang  thy  bell; 
Speed  through  the  crowd; 
Cry  long  and  loud 
My  loss,  and  tell 
Its  priceless  worth. 
Here's  thrice  thy  pay!" 

"Nay,  friend,"  the  crier  said; 
"  Keep  in  thy  purse  thy  gold. 
Oft  have  I  cried  the  loss  of  days, 
Cried  far  and  wide, 
But  vainly  cried. 
Nay,  go  thy  ways; 
The  tale  is  old; 
Thy  day  is  dead." 

Dead,  lost,  wasted  day! 
Yet  shalt  thou  live  again 

In  many  a  sad  tomorrow  still; 
Thy  words  and  deeds, 
Like  noxious  weeds 
Bear  fruit  of  ill 
Through  life — and  then 
For  aye  and  aye! 


II 


ANGELS 

OFT  in  some  kindly  face  we  see 
A  pledge  of  immortality, 
As  in  the  gleam  of  gentle  eyes 
We  catch  a  glimpse  of  Paradise. 

What's  Heaven?    A  realm  remote,  as  far 
As  yon  dim,  coldly  distant  star; 
With  lofty  gates  that  ne'er  unlock 
Save  at  the  self-assurant  knock 
Of  saints  elect? 

Nay,  never  so! 

Heaven's  homely  door  is  near  and  low; 
And  one  may  enter  there,  nor  guess 
The  portal  passed;  yet  none  the  less 
May  bide  within,  though  plodding  still 
With  patient  footsteps,  up  the  hill. 

He  dwells  in  Heaven,  whose  heart-beats  chime 

With  Youth's  ideals;  whom  Care  and  Time 

Would  age  in  vain.    His  soul  is  young, 

For  joy  is  his  own  mother-tongue. 

Simple  his  life;  his  only  arts — 

The  word  of  cheer  to  drooping  hearts; 

The  ready  smile;  the  generous  hand; 

The  sympathy  to  understand, 

The  grace  to  soothe  another's  woes; 

His  own,  forgetting  to  disclose. 

He  who  thus  loves  to  live,  'tis  he 
Has  Heaven's  Open  Sesame! 
12 


THE  WORD  ETERNAL 

Isaiah  xl,  6-8. 

CRY,  said  the  Voice;  and  answering  the  call, 

What  shall  I  cry?  said  he. 
Cry  that  all  flesh  is  grass,  and  cry  that  all 

Its  goodliness  shall  be 
As  is  the  field-flower. 

Withered  is  the  grass, 

And  faded  is  the  flower, 
Because  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  doth  pass 

Upon  them  in  their  hour. 
The  grass  must  wither  and  the  flower  must  fade; 

The  Word  of  Him  whose  hand 
The  grass,  the  flower,  and  mortal  flesh  hath  made, 

Forevermore  shall  stand. 

Ye  mote-discerning  scribes  of  latter-day, 

With  misused  eyes  who  look 
Through  earth-made  lenses,  keen  to  steal  away 

God's  sanction  from  His  Book, 
Whereof  one  jot  or  tittle  shall  not  pass 

Till  He  fulfilleth  all; 
To  Him  ye  are  but  upstart  blades  of  grass, 

And  at  a  breath  ye  fall. 
Know  this,  that  when  ye  too  shall  fade  and  die, 

What  time  the  Lord  may  will, 
His  Word,  in  spite  of  critics  low  or  high, 

Shall  stand  unshaken  still! 


FAITH  AND  THE  VOICE 

FAITH  from  the  heights 
Looks  down  and  sighs; 
For  to  her  eyes 
Come  saddening  sights. 
Beneath  her  feet  she  marks  a  weary  mass 

Of  men  with  muck-rakes,  groping  in  the  mire 
For  chance-gold;  there  she  sees  the  idlers  pass 
With  empty  hands,  and  rags  for  scant  attire. 
Lurking  in  yonder  shade 
Waits  desperate  Crime, 
With  Misery,  his  maid, 

And  bides  his  time. 
Lust,  Vice  and  Fraud 
Ride  flauntingly  abroad, 
While  Virtue  plods  the  byways,  half  afraid. 

"How  long,"  again 

Sighs  Faith,  "How  long 
Shall  Want  and  Wrong 
Rule  over  men? 
Is  that  Millennium  all  a  myth?    Can  God 

Forget  His  children?"    Soft  a  Voice  replies, 
"Did  I  not  suffer  too,  and  kiss  the  rod?" 
Faith  lifts  her  face  to  the  illumined  skies 
And  whispers  "It  is  He! 

Complaining  heart,  be  dumb 
And  wait,  for  thou  shalt  see 

His  Kingdom  come. 
Day  conquers  Night, 
And  Wrong  shall  yield  to  Right; 
Thou  seest  Time;  God  sees  Eternity." 

14 


HIS  NARROW  WAY 

Matt.  vi5, 14 

I'VE  trod  Thy  narrow  path  all  day. 

I'm  heartsick,  footsore,  weak; 
So  steep  and  stony  is  the  way 

Thy  Scripture  bade  me  seek. 
With  vague  regret  I  think  on  those 
Who  laughing,  idling,  pluck  the  rose 

Along  the  highway 

That  is  not  Thy  way. 


My  prisoned  soul  shall  soar,  I  know 

At  last  on  Heavenward  wings; 
Meantime,  with  painful  steps  I  go, 

And  long  for  earthly  things; 
Doubting  if  endless  peace  requites 
A  lifetime  barren  of  delights — 

Rest  everlasting 

This  mortal  fasting. 


O  self  deceived!    My  way  is  strewn 

With  violets;  arched  with  vine. 
That  rugged  hill-road  is  thine  own, 

A  travesty  of  Mine. 

Though  found  by  few,  for  thee  it  wends 
Through  pleasant  pastures,  and  ascends 

A  path  of  flowers 

To  Zion's  towers. 


His  Narrow  Way 

An  easy  yoke,  a  burden  light 

I  promised  thee.    What  need 
To  doubt  if  Heaven  can  requite 

A  penance  self-decreed? 
Go,  seek  again;  nor  shalt  thou  miss 
On  earth,  full  meed  of  human  bliss, 

Treadst  thou  the  byway 

That's  truly  My  way. 


ASK  HIM 

John  ix,  ai 

SHALL  we  presume  to  say  how  those  blind  eyes — 
Eyes  we  have  loved  and  pitied  in  their  plight, 
Have  on  a  sudden  opened  to  the  light, 

And  seen  God's  sunshine  out  of  blackness  rise? 

We  knew  our  son  was  blind,  and  we  have  wept 
To  see  him  wandering,  stumbling,  falling  oft. 
We  tried  to  lead  him,  with  persuasion  soft 

As  love  can  make  it;  but  an  anguish  crept 

Into  our  hearts  and  dwelt  there.    He  was  blind, 
Aye,  from  his  birth  he  saw  not.    But  today 
He  sees!    No  longer  shall  he  miss  the  way; 

No  longer  fall  or  stumble.    He  shall  find 

Safe  guidance,  though  our  own  eyes  may  grow  dim. 
But  ask  not  us  the  means;  we  know  no  more 
Than  that  he  sees,  whom  we  knew  blind  before. 

Lo,  there  he  stands;  he  is  of  age;  ask  him! 


16 


GRAPES,  OR  WILD  GRAPES? 

Isaiah  v 

God  fenced  His  vineyard  all  about, 
And  all  the  stones  He  gathered  out. 
He  planted  there  the  choicest  vine. 
A  tower  He  built;  a  press  for  wine. 
He  looked  to  bring  forth  grapes,  and  lo, 
Wild  grapes  ivere  all  it  would  bestow. 

Thou  heart  of  mine,  fair  vineyard  proudly  set 

Upon  a  fruitful  hill;  so  blest,  and  yet 

So  prone  to  failure!    God  hath  guarded  thee 

From  inward  menace  and  from  outward  foe; 
Hath  planted  in  thy  midst  a  living  tree, 

Thine  easy  task  to  merely  let  it  grow. 
Useless  the  winepress,  for  so  hard  thou  art, 
The  grapes  it  bears  are  wild,  thou  flinty  heart. 

'  Twixt  Him  and  His,  implored  He  them 
Of  Judah  and  Jerusalem 
To  judge,  and  say  what  could  He  more 
Have  done;  and  why  His  vineyard  bore 
Wild  grapes  instead  of  grapes;  and  why 
His  vine  should  thus  His  hope  deny? 

God  asks  thee  why?    What  answer  canst  thou  make? 
O  heart,  thou  idly  slumbering  heart,  awake! 
Drink  the  soft  rain,  the  fervent  sunshine  which 

He  daily  sends  thee,  and  with  all  thy  strength 
Give  to  His  vine  a  life  so  warm,  so  rich 

With  good,  that  when  thine  Autumn  comes  at  length, 
His  hand  shall  gladly  gather  from  the  vine 
Good  grapes  that  pressed  shall  yield  Him  perfect  wine. 

3  17 


JESUS  WEPT 

John  xi,  35 
HE  was  a  man  of  sorrows,  and  acquaint 

With  grief,  and  when  they  led  Him  where  one  lay 

Whom  He  had  loved,  He  wept;  and  who  can  say 
How  ached  His  human  heart?    But  not  for  this, 

That  Lazarus  had  died.    Nay,  how  could  One 
Who  knew  the  grave  a  door  to  greater  bliss, 

Have  wept  at  such  promotion?    'Twas  that  none 
Believed  in  Him,  but  inly  made  complaint 

Of  His  indifference,  as  Mary  cried 
"Hadst  Thou  been  here,  my  brother  had  not  died!" 

Yet  He  was  glad  He  was  not  there!    How  curt 
A  saying,  out  of  lips  that  breathed  but  Love; 

For  had  He  hasted,  He  had  spared  the  hurt 
Of  parting,  and  the  hours  of  tearful  grief, 
Bitter  no  less  because  they  were  so  brief. 

Nay,  to  have  saved  him  were  indeed  a  sign, 
But  thus  to  raise  him  proved  a  power  above 

All  earthly  ken,  the  strength  of  Love  Divine! 
For  thus  He  loved,  and  so  He  loves  to-day, 
When  but  to  give  again,  He  takes  away. 


18 


IN  ADRIA 

Acts  xxvii,  29 

"Then  fearing  lest  they  should  have  fallen  upon  rocks, 
they  cast  four  anchors  out  of  the  stern,  and  wished  for  day." 

The  Men.        How  dark  the  night;  the  sea,  how  fear 
some  high; 

The  wind,  how  furiously  keen! 
In  Adria's  deeps  'twere  easier  to  die, 

Than  hurled  on  rocks  unseen, 
To  perish  twice. 

The  Master,  Out  with  our  anchor  there, 

Endurance    named.      A    mighty    strain 

'twill  bear. 
I've  proved  it  oft  in   raging  tempests 

when 

Death  walked  expectant  on  the  leeward 
shore. 

The  Men.        We're  lost;  the  anchor  drags! 

The  Master.  Then  try  again, 

And  speak  that  word  no  more. 
For  here  is  Hope,  an  anchor  good  and 

strong. 

It  grips  to  anything 

That  seems  to  offer  foothold,  and  as  long 
As  night  endures,  'twill  cling. 

19 


In  Adria 

The  Men.        Hope  fails  us  too — see  how  we  drive — 
Come,  Death! 

The  Master.  Try  Resignation.    All  but  lost, 

I  cast  this  anchor,  and  in  one  long 

breath 
It   found   a   hold,   and   though   'twas 

rudely  tossed, 
Our  ship  thus  cheated  Death. 

The  Men.        All  three  are  dragging.     Let's  give  o'er 

and  wait 
The  end  inevitable.    It  is  Fate. 

The  Master.        Peace!    I've  a  sure  deliverance  here  at 

hand; 
Its  name  is  Faith.     It  cannot  fail. 

'Twill  make 
Its   bed   below  the   seething,   shifting 

sand 
And  hold  till  morning  break. 


The  Men.        Shall  morning  come?     Oh,  for  the  day 
light! 

The  Master.  Yea; 

Safe,  by  four  anchors  held,  our  ship 

shall  ride. 
But  still  the  night  is  dark,  and  rough 

the  tide. 

Trusting,  yet  longs  the  heart  for  break  of 
Day; 

20 


In  Adria 

The  day  when  all  to  endure  has  been 

endured; 
When,  to  the  worst  resigned,  we've  gained 

the  best; 
When  Hope  fruition  finds,  and  Faith 

has  cured 

The  heart  of  longing,  and  the  soul  finds 
rest. 


AT  BETHANY 
John  xi,  5         Luke  x,  38 

BELOVED  of  Jesus  were  the  three 

He  visited  at  Bethany. 

Martha,  with  serving  cumbered,  full  of  care, 
And  troubled  over  many  things,  dwelt  there; 
Mary,  the  teachable,  whose  trustful  heart 
Inevitably  chose  the  better  part; 
And  Lazarus,  who  died  that  he  might  show 
The  power  that  LOVE  possesses  to  bestow 
The  gift  of  life. 

We  too  may  entertain 
At  home  that  royal  guest. 

Care  frets  in  vain 

When  at  His  feet  we  kneel,  who  can  restore 
Our  buried  souls  to  life,  forevermore 

Blest,  like  the  little  family 

He  visited  at  Bethany. 


21 


ESTHER 

Esther  ii,  15 

Hadassah,  quaintest  name  in  Jewish  lore, 

Discarded  for  that  stately  duplicate, 

The  Persian  Esther;  men  shall  celebrate 
Her  virtues  until  Adar  is  no  more, 
And  Purim  lost  to  mind.    One  deed  before 

All  others,  least  remarked,  most  proves  her  great; 

'Twas  that  she  chose  all  unadorned  to  wait 
The  king's  decision.    Other  maidens  wore 

Whate'er  they  would  of  costly  ornament 

When  to  the  royal  presence  they  were  sent; 
She  wisely  chose  upon  her  brow  to  show, 

By  womanhood's  pure  instinct  well  advised, 
No  gem  but  virgin  modesty,  and  lo, 

She  was  beloved,  enthroned,  immortalized! 


HANNAH 

I  Samuel  i,  ii 

HANNAH,  beloved  but  childless,  sobbed  a  prayer 
Unspoken,  that  her  yearning  arms  might  hold 
A  son;  but  after  Eli's  word  foretold 

Her  hope's  fulfilment,  she  forgot  her  care 

And  wept  no  more.    Yet  she  did  not  forswear 
Her  vow.    By  loyal  gratitude  controlled 
She  led  her  son  into  the  sacred  fold 

And  lent  him  to  the  Lord. 


Hannah 

Can  anywhere 

Except  in  Mary's  noble  song,  be  found 
Such  words  of  praise  majestic  as  resound 
Through  Hannah's  invocation? 

Not  despised 

Her  sacrifice;  for  Samuel,  her  son, 
Anointed  kings;  in  him  was  realized 

The  greatness  of  the  deed  that  she  had  done. 


MARY 
Luke  i,  46 

MOTHER  of  Jesus!    Who  could  breathe  her  name 
With  less  than  reverence?    The  call  divine 
To  motherhood  she  answered  with  no  sign 

Of  maidenly  confusion  or  of  shame, 

But  with  a  simple  eloquence  that  came 
From  pure  humility.    One  deathless  line — 
~"My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord" — so  fine, 

So  dignified  it  is,  that  Mary's  fame 

Might  rest  secure  upon  those  words  alone, 
Had  not  the  greater  honor  been  her  own 

Of  bearing  HIM,  the  Saviour  of  us  all. 
Hail,  Mary,  by  all  generations  blest! 

Of  women  whom  the  Holy  Books  recall, 
Dearer  thy  memory  than  all  the  rest. 


OUT  OF  DOORS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND 

[Inscribed  in  a  copy  of  Vandyke's  Book  of  that  Title] 

IN  that  far  sacred  land 

Where  trod  the  Saviour's  feet, 
Grow  field  'flowers  fair  and  sweet. 

Olive  and  cedar  stand 

Upon  the  mountain  sides. 
There  gleams  blue  Galilee, 
And  to  the  sunken  sea 

The  hastening  Jordan  glides. 

Ah  to  be  there  and  look 

On  scenes  that  met  His  eyes, 

Feeling  the  spell  that  lies 
On  all!  To  know  His  Book 
As  only  one  can  do 

Who  sees  the  happenings, 

The  folk,  the  very  things 
Its  pages  bring  to  view! 


AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS 

A  New  Year  Fancy 

FOOTSORE,  I  halted  where  the  travelled  road, 
That  mire-encumbered  highway  called  To-day, 
Confronts  the  velvet-pathed,  inviting  way 

That's  named  To-morrow. 

As  I  loosed  the  load 

From  off  my  long  vexed  shoulders,  "Lie  thou  there,' 

I  cried,  "thou  hateful,  chafing  weight  of  care! 

I'll  carry  thee  no  further."    For  'tis  known 
That  at  this  station  makes  the  Old  Year  pause 
To  greet  the  New.    I  tarried  there  because 

I  planned  to  meet  the  ancient  all  alone 
And  cast  my  burden  on  him,  and  I  smiled 
To  think  of  the  poor  dotard  thus  beguiled. 

At  midnight  came  they  both,  to  meet — and  part. 
I  grasped  the  Old  Year's  tattered  cloak;  he  fled 
And  left  me  holding  but  a  parted  shred. 

The  aching  of  my  disappointed  heart 

Was  like  to  break  it;  but  I  stooped  to  raise 
Again  my  load  of  care  and  go  my  ways 

Despairing,  when  behold,  the  proud  New  Year, 
Turning  his  godlike  face,  that  seemed  to  shine 
With  faith  and  high  resolve,  looked  into  mine. 
"Come,"  he  said,  beckoning;  "be  of  better  cheer; 
I'll  help  thee  bear  it."    Thus,  with  lightened  load 
And  hope  renewed,  I  took  the  mornward  road. 


OLD  AND  NEW  YEAR 

BEGONE,  unsightly  shape,  I'm  tired  of  thee; 
I  hate  thy  grizzled  poll,  thy  wrinkled  brow; 
I  hate  thy  cavernous,  accusing  eyes, 
Thy  ragged  garb;  but  most  of  all  I  hate 
This  pack  of  troubles  I  have  borne  for  thee. 
With  it  and  thee  this  night  I'll  part — begone! 

And  thou,  fair  stranger,  welcome  to  my  door. 
I  love  thy  smiling  face,  thy  merry  glance, 
Thy  golden  locks,  thy  spotless  robe,  thy  step — 
So  light  it  falls  upon  the  path;  come  in 
And  be  my  favored  guest. 

So;  there  he  goes — 
Patient  and  unresentful,  tottering 
Oblivionward,  beyond  my  wearied  ken. 
Why  throbs  my  heart  as  if  he  took  with  him 
Something  I  miss,  some  part  of  me,  and  left 
A  strange,  self-pitying  ache  in  place  of  it? 

Sighing,  I  turn  to  entertain  my  guest, 
But  wondering,  find  myself  alone.    With  haste 
I  seek  the  window,  and  behold,  far  off, 
Turning  a  mocking  face  he  hastens  on, 
Yet  beckons  "follow  me;"  and  so  I  must — 
Into  what  unknown  region? 

Oh,  forgive, 

Thou  parted  year,  the  hasty  gibes  I  spoke. 
Old  friends  are  best;  old  troubles  easier 
26 


Old  and  New  Year 

To  bear  than  new;  familiar  blessings  more 
To  be  esteemed  than  bliss  that  is  not  yet 
Except  in  dreams;  old  faiths  more  nourishing 
To  hungry  souls  than  crude  experiments. 
I  turn,  and  there  upon  the  floor  I  mark 
The  same  old  pack  of  troubles,  left  behind! 
Courage;  I  know  its  weight;  'twas  never  yet 
Beyond  my  strength.    I'll  on  my  way  again. 


THE  CORAL  ISLES 
GREEN  isles  there  are  in  southern  seas, 

By  graceful  palm  trees  nobly  crowned; 
The  waves,  coquetting  with  the  breeze, 

Play  harmlessly  the  shores  around. 
And  yet  each  isle,  that  now  appears 

As  old  as  Earth,  first  came  to  light 
When  through  long  myriads  of  years 

Had  lived  and  died  the  zoophyte. 

Each  tiny  creature  heedless  came 

To  being,  and  as  heedless  went 
Through  life,  and  dying  left  its  frame 

To  be  its  lasting  monument; 
Until  at  length,  o'er  surging  waves, 

An  island  reared  its  modest  head, 
And  verdure  decked  the  hidden  graves 

Of  countless  generations  dead. 

27 


The  Coral  Isles 

So  is  our  own  existence  wrought; 

Each  dying  day  bequeathing  still, 
Deep  hid  below  the  waves  of  thought, 

Its  legacy  of  good  or  ill. 
And  when  at  length  our  little  isle 

Above  the  sea  shall  rear  its  crest, 
The  setting  sun  shall  kindly  smile 

Upon  a  verdant  shore  of  rest. 


GRASS,  LEAVES  AND  WISTARIA 

[For  an  Eightieth  Birthday] 

OUTSIDE  my  window  there,  lies  fairyland; 

For  May,  the  queen,  has  with  her  sceptre's  touch 

Transformed  the  world.    A  million  million  fays, 

Drest  in  bright  green,  are  ranked  upon  the  sward; 

Ten  million  more  swing  saucily  above, 

Where  lifeless,  leafless  branches  hung  before; 

And  see,  where  late  that  crumbling  tree-trunk  drooped, 

Clasped  by  a  dingy  parasite,  a  burst 

Of  purple  glory  crowns  it  now,  as  fair 

As  dreams  of  Heaven,  and  perfumed  like 

The  breath  of  angels. 

Thou,  O  Memory, 

Art  Fairy  Queen  of  life.    At  touch  of  thine, 
The  common  things  of  thought  are  glorified. 
That  magic  word  Remember  works  a  change 
In  things  that  are,  and  makes  them  things  that  were; 
Yet  not  just  as  they  were,  but  mellowed;  clad 
In  softer  colors,  and  of  rarer  scent. 

The  years 

Roll  back;  the  Winter's  gone;  'tis  May  again! 
28 


THE  SUNSET  SEA 

'Unto  the  great  sea  toward  the  going  down  of  the  sun.' 
Jos.  i,  4 

OUR  way  is  westward,  and  beyond  the  ring 
Of  our  horizon  lies  the  Sunset  Sea. 

However  long  the  journey,  it  must  bring 
Our  footsteps  to  the  shore,  and  then  must  we 
Take  ship  on  that  unknown  immensity. 

How  shall  we  fare  upon  its  heaving  flood? 
No  wonder  that  we  shiver  on  the  brink, 
And  that  with  trembling  lips  and  chilling  blood 
We  stand  aghast  and  fearsome,  as  we  think 
Into  what  depths  abysmal  we  may  sink. 

But  Death,  our  helmsman,  beckons  us  aboard. 
Reluctant,  we  embark,  and  so  depart — 

For  what  arrival?    Anguished  by  a  horde 
Of  sombre  memories,  the  fluttering  heart 
Is  charged  with  apprehension  from  the  start. 

Better  such  honest  dread,  than  self  deceit; 

What  of  the  comfortable  souls  that  know 
And  boast  their  sure  salvation;  shall  they  meet 

Fulfilment  of  their  hopes,  or  gasping  go 

Astonished,  into  everlasting  woe? 

Or  fear  or  confidence,  'tis  all  too  late! 

We  leave  the  world,  but  with  our  fatal  past 
We  cannot  break.    The  things  we  love  or  hate 

Through  life,  are  loved  or  hated  at  the  last; 

Already  the  deciding  die  is  cast, 

29 


The  Sunset  Sea 

And  our  arrival  shall  be  such  as  we 

Onrself  have  destined  it.    The  port  we  find 

Is  not  appointed  by  the  stern  decree 
Of  Deity;  our  inmost  thoughts  divined, 
Death  lands  us  in  the  country  of  our  kind. 


SLEEP 

THE  wonder  of  it!    Nightly  we  compose 
Our  minds  to  slumber,  and  with  soft  caress 

Good  Mother  Nature,  as  our  eyelids  close, 
Lulls  us  to  drowsiness. 

We  know  no  more  until  we  wake,  renewed 
In  strength  and  courage,  to  another  day; 

Eager  to  cope  with  Fortune;  in  the  mood 
To  conquer,  come  what  may. 

Greater  the  wonder,  that  foreboding  naught 
That  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  may  chance, 

We  yield  ourselves  to  sleep  without  a  thought, 
In  trustful  ignorance. 

"This  night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee;" — 

Who  thinks  of  this  at  bed-time?    Otherwise 
A  curse  were  sleep,  so  fearful  should  we  be 
To  close  our  wearied  eyes. 

Thou  best  of  blessings!    Hard  the  lot  of  those 
To  whom  thou  art  denied;  how  happy  they 

Whose  nights  are  thine,  in  comforting  repose, 
Till  breaks  Eternal  Day. 

3° 


CHRISTMAS 

LED  by  a  little  Child,  the  heart 

Goes  forth  at  Christmastide 
To  scenes  from  baser  things  apart, 

And  Love  walks  on  beside. 

Gifts  and  caresses;  tender  thought, 

Soft  smile  and  gentle  speech, 
Are  freely  to  the  altar  brought 

By  dear  ones,  each  for  each. 

Oh  for  the  time  when  Jesus'  name 

Our  hearts  may  occupy 
Throughout  the  year's  full  round,  the  same 

As  now,  with  Christmas  nigh. 

Lead  on,  dear  Child;  and  Love,  be  thou 

Beside  us  all  the  way; 
So  may  we  keep  not  only  now 

But  always,  Christmas  Day. 


"THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE" 

[For  a  Wedding  Day] 

"FAITH,  Hope  and  Love;  these  three  abide;' 
Thus  the  apostle,  long  ago; 
And  may  it  with  you  two  be  so, 
Whatever  else  betide. 

FAITH  in  each  other  always,  and 
In  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well, 
Be  yours,  as  happily  you  dwell 

And  journey  hand  in  hand. 

May  HOPE  be  ever  at  your  door, 

To  say,  when  clouds  obscure  the  blue, 
"Be  sure  the  sun  will  soon  shine  through 
Still  brighter  than  before." 

And  as  a  fondly  cherished  guest 

May  LOVE  abide  with  you,  for  he — 
So  says  The  Book — is  of  these  three 

The  greatest  and  the  best. 


COMPENSATION 

TIME,  with  an  hourglass  and  a  scythe, 

Stands  ready  at  the  stile, 
And  for  each  pilgrim,  sad  or  blithe, 

He  marks  another  mile. 
Poor  wearied  limbs,  ah,  how  they  ache! 

But  every  step  counts  one, 
And  leaves  one  step  the  less  to  take 

Before  the  journey's  done. 

Time  turns  his  glass,  year  in,  year  out, 

As  every  hour  goes  by; 
Then  with  his  scythe  he  lays  about 

'Mid  roadside  grasses  high. 
What  if  the  wild-flowers  cringe  and  fall, 

The  daisies  and  the  rest? 
Dame  Earth  will  make  a  place  for  all 

To  lie,  upon  her  breast. 

Let  Winter  come,  and  gently  spread 

His  soft  white  mantle  o'er 
Their  faded  beauty;  they  are  dead, 

Yet  shall  they  live  once  more. 
They  died  to  mark  Time's  ruthless  track, 

But  Winter  cannot  bide 
Forever;  Spring  will  bring  them  back, 

And  fairer  flowers  beside! 


33 


FAITH  EFFECTIVE 

'The  substance  of  things  hoped  for." — Heb.  ari,  i 

WHAT  we  aspire  to  be 
And  with  all  faith  essay, 

That  beyond  question  we 
Shall  be  some  day. 

The  things  we  would  possess, 

Believing,  we  acquire; 
Fate's  NO  is  turned  to  YES 

By  strong  desire. 

To  know  this  must  give  pause 

To  him  of  sober  mind 
And  humble  heart,  because 
"Who  seeks,  shall  find;" 

And  what  is  sought,  is  found; 

So  let  him  seek  the  best, 
And  blessings  without  bound 

Shall  crown  his  quest. 


34 


SEEING  AND  BELIEVING 

Heb.  xi,  I 

IF  Faith  be,  as  the  Scriptures  tell, 
The  evidence  of  things  not  seen, 
What  may  not  to  believers  mean 

The  marvels  visible  as  well? 

Life;  death;  the  starry  skies;  the  sun; 
The  birds'  return;  the  seed  which  dies 
That  fruit  may  from  its  grave  arise; 

The  dawn  that  breaks  when  night  is  done; 

The  doubter  takes  for  granted  these; 

To  all  beyond  his  ken,  is  blind; 

The  faithful  one  delights  to  find 
God  proved  in  everything  he  sees; 

But  Earth's  horizon  does  not  bound 
His  vision;  things  beyond  the  skies 
Are  known  to  his  believing  eyes, 

And  fill  his  heart  with  peace  profound. 


THE  TRYSTING    PLACE 

WE  lingered  in  the  wood, 

My  love  and  I; 

None  else  was  nigh, 
And  she,  in  generous  mood, 
Gave  kiss  for  kiss.    Oh,  happy,  happy  day, 

So  far  away. 

We  loved,  and  we  were  young. 
Let  none  gainsay 
Young  Love's  old  way, 
By  poets  gaily  sung, 

When  lips  crave  toll,  and  willing  lips  respond 
In  payment  fond. 


We  loitered  through  the  wood,     « 

My  wife  and  I; 

And  passing  by 
That  love-blest  neighborhood, 
Our  eyes  met  meaningly;  we  stayed  our  pace 

At  the  old  place, 

And  there  again  we  kissed, 

And  whispering  clung. 

Must  Love  be  young? 
Nay,  for  we  nothing  missed 
Of  Youth's  joy-laden,  unforgotten  day, 

Or  Love's  old  way! 

36 


MAY-TIME 

NEVER  upon  the  willow  hung 

His  harp;  and  when  the  year  was  young 

And  all  the  roadside  bloomed  aflame, 

Along  the  way  the  poet  came; 

Yet  while  entranced  he  swept  the  strings, 

The  music  was  not  his,  but  Spring's. 

Joy  in  the  heart  will  out  in  song; 
Nor  verse  nor  lilt  can  go  far  wrong 
When  Love  elated  beats  the  time 
And  bids  the  poet  mate  his  rhyme 
With  melody;  yet  when  he  sings, 
The  lyric  is  not  his,  but  Spring's. 

When  May  inspires  the  poet's  heart 
With  faithful  purpose  to  impart 
To  earnest  souls  the  meaning  clear 
Of  that  great  hope  which  every  year 
Dead  Nature's  resurrection  brings, 
The  message  is  not  his,  but  Spring's. 


37 


THE  CIPHER 

I  SEE  him  now,  dejected,  bent 

With  worries,  more  than  years; 
Garb  threadbare;  eyes  downcast;  intent — 

Not  on  how  he  appears, 
But — how  to  pay  some  paltry  debt; 

The  chance  of  his  next  meal; 
The  thousand  cares  and  one,  that  fret 

The  honest  ne'er-do-weel. 

I  see  him  growing  shabbier  still; 

His  footsteps  faltering,  slow, 
As  'tis  when  tottering  down  the  hill 

Life's  luckless  failures  go. 
Time  was,  when  love  and  hope  and  youth 

Were  his,  and  dreams,  alas! 
Of  things  to  be  achieved.    In  sooth, 

They  never  came  to  pass. 

Over  his  lonesome  grave  is  kept 

No  satire  carved  in  stone; 
No  eyes  remark  the  spot  except 

The  sexton's  and  my  own. 
Let  me  his  epitaph  condense 

To  this;  He  nothing  brought 
Into  the  world;  took  nothing  thence, 

And  left  behind  him  naught. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER 

WHAT  though  he  have  no  cheese  to  lay 
Between  his  fragments  of  dry  bread? 

He  will  not  care; 
And  if  the  moon  be  overhead, 

He'll  slyly  peep  at  her  and  say 
"There's  plenty  there!" 

Or  possibly  his  playful  mind 

Recalls  "the  plans  of  mice  and  men;" 
"The  mouse  and  I 

Will  not  grow  fat,"  he  sighs;  but  when 
All's  done,  some  crumbs  he  leaves  behind — 
The  mouse  knows  why. 

But  should  nor  bread  nor  cheese  appear, 
He  gives  his  belt  another  pull, 

And  looking  up 

Observes,  "At  least  the  moon  is  full;" 
In  water  then,  to  her  good  cheer 
He  quaffs  a  cup. 

'Gainst  such  a  man  says  Envy  naught, 

Nor  Malice  taunts  him  with  her  laugh. 
The  world  well  lost, 
He  dies  without  an  epitaph, 
Knows  not  what  lesson  he  has  taught, 
Nor  counts  the  cost. 


39 


THE  LAST  MOSQUITO 

NAY,  live,  thou  slender,  flighty  thing, 

Frail  relic  of  a  fleeting  past; 
Stern  Winter  all  too  soon  shall  bring 

Thy  ruin  in  his  chilly  blast. 

Live!    let  no  heartless  mortal  wreak 

A  mean  revenge  on  thee  because 
Thou  tookst,  forsooth,  in  playful  freak, 

His  cuticle  within  thy  jaws. 

I  harm  thee?    No!  be  not  afraid. 

Such  gay  conceits  from  thee  I  glean! 
Who  knows?    Perchance  thou  mayst  have  played 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  Queen ! 

Perchance  thy  veins  convey  a  stream 

Of  princely  blood.    Well  may  it  be 
Thy  tuneful  voice  has  been  the  theme 

Of  beauty  and  nobility. 

But  stay.    'Twere  sacrilege  to  blend 

Blood  royal  with  plebeian.    Why, 
Still  mayst  thou,  dapper  knight,  descend 

E'en  to  such  humble  game  as  I. 

A  vaunt  the  thought!    I  reverence 

Thy  lofty  past;  but  earth  is  rife 
With  pleasures  that  degrade,  and  hence 

With  loyal  hand  I  take  thy  life. 

40 


MY  SWEETHEART,  SPRING 

I  HEAR  her  call, 
My  sweetheart,  Spring. 
How  soft,  how  clear 
The  far  notes  fall, 

My  ravished  ear 
Enrapturing. 

Make  haste,  my  own! 
Too  slow  thy  flight. 
With  thee  away, 
I've  grieved  alone 

Through  lagging  day 
And  lonesome  night. 

She'll  come — and  fly; 
Too  swift  her  wing. 
A  smile — a  kiss — 
No  more;  then  I 

Must  mourn  and  miss 
My  sweetheart,  Spring. 


She's  here,  she's  here — 
My  sweetheart,  Spring! 

Staying  her  flight, 
She  hovers  near; 

Her  pinions  white 
All  quivering. 

41 


My  Sweetheart,  Spring 

She's  here — she's  mine! 
Her  pure  lips  cling 
To  mine,  and  tell 
Of  joys  divine. 

At  last  all's  well — 
She's  here,  my  Spring! 


TO  MOTHER  AT  SEVENTY 

'Tis  true  thy  snowy  hair  and  furrowed  brow 
Tell  their  own  silent  story;  yet  with  eyes 

Bright  and  courageous  as  of  old,  see'st  thou 
Thy  seventieth  milestone  in  the  pathway  rise. 

Thou  look'st  not  back;  for  now  thine  eye  may  note 
The  goal  before  thee,  and  thine  eager  ear 

Catch  the  first  murmured  welcomes  as  they  float 
On  waves  ethereal,  exquisitely  clear; 

Welcomes  from  loving  lips,  for  at  the  Gate, 
Standing  with  hands  outreached  and  eyes  aglow 

With  love-light,  see  how  many  dear  ones  wait 
To  fold  thee  close,  remembering  long  ago. 

But  stay — be  not  too  eager  to  be  gone! 

Still  may'st  thou  rest  awhile  as  'round  thy  knee 
Young  faces  cluster,  shining  just  as  shone 

Thy  children's  own.    Still  may'st  thou  wait  and  see 
42 


To  Mother  at  Seventy 

How  fares  it  here  with  loved  ones  thou  must  leave 
To  follow  thee.    But  be  thy  later  years 

Full  of  sweet  peace.    May  no  new  loss  bereave 
Thy  heart,  nor  dim  thy  dear  bright  eyes  with  tears. 

Be  sunshine  on  thy  pathway  to  the  end; 

And  be  it  thine  to  know,  from  first  to  last, 
That  loving  hands  thy  steps  will  fondly  tend 

Until  thy  days  of  journeying  are  past. 


LOVERS'  HEARTS 

WHEN  lovers'  hearts  are  warm  and  true, 

A  word,  a  glance  will  set  them  beating, 
And  start  the  trembling  cords  anew 

Love's  own  delicious  tune  repeating; 
And  when  the  word,  the  glance,  are  past, 

Dear  memory  will  backward  wander, 
And  make  the  fond  heart,  to  the  last, 

Grow  moment  after  moment  fonder. 

When  lovers'  eyes  enchanted  dwell 

On  eyes  that  bear  the  gaze  unchiding, 
They  need  no  spoken  word  to  tell 

The  thoughts  that  in  their  breasts  are  hiding. 
Yet  from  the  heart's  abundant  store 

The  ready  lips  are  ever  taking, 
And  though  they've  told  it  o'er  and  o'er, 

Their  tender  theme  are  always  waking. 

43 


Lovers'  Hearts 

When  lovers'  hands  no  longer  press 

Each  other  fondly  at  their  meeting, 
Ah,  then  'twere  better  to  confess 

The  mournful  truth  that  love  is  fleeting. 
For  faithful  hands  will  never  let 

The  past  grow  old;  there  ever  lingers 
The  warmth  of  young  affection  yet 

In  the  soft  pressure  of  their  fingers. 

Oh  joyous  Youth!    When  thou  art  fled, 

Say  not  that  Love,  beside  thee  flying, 
Will  leave  Devotion  cold  and  dead, 

And  Hope  despondent,  crushed  and  dying! 
Say  rather,  that  though  life  be  long, 

And  all  begirt  with  loss  and  sorrow, 
Love  still  shall  chant  his  tender  song, 

And  Hope  still  wait  the  glad  tomorrow! 


STOLEN  SWEETS 

THE  Heart  is  like  the  honey  bee. 

All  summer  long  he  hovers  over 
The  sunlit  field,  and  sips  the  sweet 

Of  wild-rose,  thistle-flower  and  clover; 
Yet  garners  all  at  home,  and  when 

Rose,  flower  and  blossom  droop  and  wither 
His  treasure-house  is  brimming  full 

With  pilfered  store.    Then  flies  he  thither, 
And  there,  beside  his  chosen  queen, 

He  recks  no  more  of  summer's  pleasures, 
But  only  seeks  to  heap  on  her 

The  best  and  sweetest  of  his  treasures. 

44 


THE  MOUND 

"WHAT  is  to  love?"    I  asked  the  maid 
Whose  hand  I  held  as  on  we  strayed 

Through  field-flowers  high. 
'"Twas  you  who  taught  me,"  answered  she, 
"And  you  should  know.    What  may  it  be 
But  happily  to  stray  like  this, 
Through  life,  my  hand  in  yours?"    A  kiss 
Was  my  reply. 

"What  is  to  love?"    I  asked  my  bride. 
She  nestled  closer  to  my  side 

And  whispered  low —  . 

"It  is  to  know  that  you  are  mine 
To  have  and  hold  and  keep;  to  twine 
For  aye  and  aye  about  your  heart 
And  cherish  you  till  death  do  part — 
Is  it  not  so?" 


God  gave  another  sweet  young  life 
Into  our  keeping.    To  my  wife 

Again  I  said, 

'What  is  to  love?"    She  fondly  pressed 
The  sleeping  infant  to  her  breast 
And  said  "To  suffer  and  to  yield 
One's  selfhood  up,  to  guard  and  shield 

This  precious  head." 


45 


The  Mound 

We  knelt  one  day  upon  the  ground 
Beside  a  little  tear-wet  mound, 

Her  hand  in  mine. 

"  What  is  to  love?"  each  asked  of  each, 
Only  this  little  grave  could  teach 
God's  lesson.    Love  is  not  our  own 
To  give  or  take,  but  His  alone — 
His  best  of  gifts — .    Ah,  this  is  it; 
To  love  is  only  to  submit 
To  His  design. 

ACROSS  THE  TABLE 

A  Valentine 
ACROSS  the  table  now  and  then 

I  steal  a  glance; 

Your  eyes  perchance, 

Dear  Valentine, 

Smile  into  mine 
And  gently  fall  again. 

God  grant  that  as  the  years  pass  o'er, 

Your  eyes  and  mine, 

Dear  Valentine, 

May  ever  meet 

With  meaning  sweet 
Until  they  meet  no  more. 

And  then  if  part  we  must  awhile, 

God  grant  that  when 

We  meet  again 

Your  eyes  in  mine, 

Dear  Valentine, 
Forevermore  may  smile! 
46 


HOME'S  QUEEN 

CROWNED  with  a  sweetness  all  her  own; 
Content  to  grace  a  lowly  throne; 

With  kindly  sceptre  reigns 

O'er  her  domains 
The  gentle  queen  of  every  heart 
That  in  her  little  realm  has  part, 
And  such  is  her  mysterious  art 

That  Love,  a  willing  thrall, 

Comes  at  her  call. 

Small  wonder  that  we  yield  her  thus 
Our  homage,  for  she  gives  to  us 

Full  measure,  nothing  less, 

Of  tenderness. 

Rule  on,  sweet  queen.    About  thy  throne 
Thy  dear  ones  gathered  fondly  own 
Thy  sway,  and  led  by  Love  alone, 

Gladly  to  thee  they  bring 

Love's  offering! 


47 


AT  MIDNIGHT 

TWELVE  strokes  of  the  bell! 
'Tis  midnight,  and  all's  well; 
Though  dark  the  night, 
Soon  comes  the  morning  light. 


Mark  now  the  dial.    Close  together  lie 

The  hands,  as  if  to  say,  "When  thou  art  nigh, 

The  dark  is  not  so  fearful."    So  it  is 

When  trials  come  to  hearts  that  love;  a  kiss, 

A  tender  clasp,  a  smile,  a  word  of  cheer, 

Beguile  the  gloom  and  bring  the  day  more  near 

Twelve  strokes  of  the  bell — 
Tis  midnight,  but  all's  well; 
Though  dark  the  night, 
Soon  breaks  the  morning  light. 


LASTING  LOVE 

CHILDHOOD'S  love  is  sweet  and  pure; 

Boyhood's  love  is  warm  and  earnest; 
Youth's  fond  love  grows  only  truer 

When  the  frowns  of  Fate  are  sternest. 
Manhood's  love  is  brave  and  strong; 

Pain  and  danger  curb  it  never; 
But  though  life  were  ages  long, 

None  of  these  could  last  forever. 
48 


Lasting  Love 

Married  love  is  best  of  all; 

Ever  patient,  ever  tender; 
Pure  devotion's  willing  thrall, 

Virtue's  proudest,  best  defender. 
Married  love  is  argus-eyed, 

Watchful,  wistful,  hopeful  ever; 
Hearts  in  God's  own  love-knot  tied, 

Death  itself  shall  not  dissever! 


TWELVE  strokes!    'Tis  midnight;  but  another  day 
Is  born  as  dies  the  last,  yet  sleeps  awhile 
And  waits  for  dawn. 

I  too  must  go  to  rest. 
Ah,  if  I  had  the  cunning  to  beguile 
From  sleep  the  dream  I've  wished  for,  and  might  stay 
All  through  the  night  in  that  illusion  blest; 

I'd  meet  my  love  again  in  some  green  dell 
Profuse  with  wild-flowers,  merry  with  the  song 

Of  mating  birds.    I'd  clasp  her  close,  and  press 
To  mine  again  the  lips  I've  missed  so  long; 
And  though  the  morn  must  come  to  break  the  spell, 
I'd  wake  remembering  that  happiness! 


49 


AWAY 

I  KISS  the  little  folks  goodnight,  as  one  by  one  they 

pray; 
I'd  like  to  kiss  their  mother  too, — but  she's  away. 

'Tis  not  for  long;  just  for  a  night — no  more — she  means 

to  stay. 
I  wish  'twere  not  so  lonesome  here,  when  she's  away! 

Somehow  as  I  sit  here,  I  feel  the  anguish  of  that  day 
When  from  my  sight  for  the  last  time  she'll  go  away. 

A  foolish  fancy!    Just  a  night; 

Tomorrow'll  dawn,  and  then 
My  sunshine,  missed  so  wistfully,  will  come  again; 

But  oh,  the  lonesomeness  to  be,  when  from  my  stricken 

door 
My  love  shall  one  day  hasten  out — to  come  no  more! 


MARCH  WINDS 

BLOW,  March,  and  if  thou  crack  thy  chest 

I  shall  not  mind, 
So  that  the  one  I  love  the  best 

Escapes  the  wind; 
And  were  thy  rudest,  bleakest  blast 

To  rage  aroused, 
Within  my  heart  I'd  hold  her  fast, 

All  safely  housed. 

Blow  rather,  winds  of  March,  to  chase 

Away  her  cares; 
To  dry  the  tears  from  her  dear  face 

With  gentlest  airs. 
But  March,  whatever  be  thy  mood, 

Be  mine  the  part 
To  keep  her,  blow  thou  soft  or  rude, 

Within  my  heart! 


March  comes  again.    I  bade  him  blow 

To  crack  his  chest, 
So  that  untouched  he  let  her  go 

Whom  I  loved  best. 
No  wind  can  touch  her  now,  unless 

In  Heaven  should  stir 
Some  daring  zephyr,  a  caress 

To  offer  her. 

Si 


March  Winds 

Kiss  her  for  me,  Immortal  Wind, 

And  with  it,  see 
Thou  whisper  her  to  keep  in  mind 

Fond  thoughts  of  me. 
Blow,  March,  unchidden.    Have  thy  way! 

Thy  buffetings 
I'll  bear  for  her  dear  sake  whose  Day 

Thy  coming  brings. 


MADONNA 

OVER  and  over,  The  Child  and  His  Mother — 

None  like  another — 
Look  from  the  walls  of  my  chamber,  and  keep 

Watch  while  I  sleep. 

She  who  so  loved  them  has  gone  from  their  ken, 

Nor  shall  again 
Sleep  in  their  keeping,  and  after  the  night 

Wake  in  their  sight. 

Gone;  but  her  image  is  there  with  the  others, 

The  beautiful  mothers; 
Holding  her  child  in  a  loving  embrace 

Close  to  her  face. 

So  shall  she  too  be  the  guard  of  my  sleeping, 

Tenderly  keeping 
Watch  of  my  soul  all  the  night  through,  and  making 

Happy  my  waking! 

5* 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING 

COMES  there  in  Heaven  a  time  like  night, 

When  angels  rest, 

And  on  her  breast 

My  dear  one  lays 

Her  hands  and  prays 
For  him  she  used  to  love  the  best? 

Ah,  if  she  might! 

In  Heaven,  when  breaks  the  morning  light, 

Does  she  awake, 

And  for  his  sake 

One  moment  pause 

And  sigh  because 
Of  that  fond  kiss  he  may  not  take? 

Ah,  if  she  might! 


LOVED  AND  LOST  AWHILE 

"And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile." 

(Lead,  Kindly  Light.) 

LOVED — ah,  so  fondly  loved — thy  face, 
Thou  cherished  one,  and  lost  so  long; 

How  shall  I  find  it  in  that  place    . 
So  vast,  amid  that  myriad  throng? 

Timid  and  trembling  at  the  gate, 
Faint  with  the  fear  of  missing  thee, 

Hoping,  despairing,  I  must  wait 
Unless  thou  come  to  welcome  me. 

And  thou  wilt  come;  thy  heart  will  feel 

The  call  of  mine,  and  I  shall  see 
The  parting  multitude  reveal 

Thy  face,  alight  with  love  for  me. 

Come,  day  of  days,  or  far  or  near, 
When  turns  to  me  its  tender  smile 

The  face,  unutterably  dear 
That  I  have  loved,  and  lost  awhile! 


54 


FORGIVEN,  NOT  FORGOTTEN 

"To  whom  little  is  forgiven,  the  same  loveth  little* 

PERHAPS  if  I  were  conscience  clear 

Of  sins   remembrance  must  condemn, 
I  should  not  hold  that  one  so  dear 

Who  proved  her  love  by  shriving  them; 
The  heart  so  generous,  that  was  brave 

To  bear  my  hurts  of  heedlessness; 
So  true,  that  lovingly  forgave 

Whatever  fault  I  dared  confess. 

"He  loveth  little,"  says  the  Word, 
"To  whom  but  little  is  forgiven." 
To  love  unstinted  is  he  stirred 

Whose  many  sins  are  freely  shriven. 
Such  love  is  mine,  and  shall  be  so 

Forever,  but  my  conscience  yet 
Rebukes  my  sins  of  long  ago, 

Which  I,  forgiven,  cannot  forget. 


5S 


PETITION 

LORD,  let  me  not  grow  old! 

If  years  increase, 
Let  not  my  heart  turn  cold 

Until  I  cease. 
And  oh,  at  Thy  behest 
Let  me  with  Love  be  blest 

Till  my  release. 

To  all  my  dear  ones  bring 

Love's  accolade. 
Cherished  and  cherishing, 

Let  them  persuade 
Life's  dearest  gift  from  Thee — 
Love,  that  shall  never  be 

Dimmed  or  betrayed! 


A  RHYME  OF  DAYS 

DEAR  days  gone  by! 

Remembered  with  a  sigh 

For  pledges  made  and  kept; 

For  lips  that  closer  crept; 
For  love  confessed  in  kisses,  long  and  sweet; 

Fair  yesterdays, 

Lost  in  the  purpling  haze 

Of  the  horizon's  verge, 

Where  memories  fade  and  merge 
In  shadowy  shapes,  as  Night  and  Twilight  meet. 

56 


A  Rhyme  of  Days 

Imperative  To-day — 

Tyrannical  thy  sway 

As  Noon's  insistent  glare; 

No  mortal  dost  thou  spare 
From  his  appointed  task.    Thy  spurring  goad 

Compels  him  on, 

Whether  be  lost  or  won 

The  tempting  prize 

Thou  holdst  before  his  eyes 
To  lure  his  faltering  feet  along  the  road. 

To-morrow — shall  it  be? 

And  shall  its  coming  see 

Fulfilment  or  despair? 

Surcease  from  crushing  care, 
Or  greater  burdens?    Hope  and  Doubt  contend, 

The  while  the  Morrow  waits 

The  opening  of  the  gates. 

Or  this,  or  that  must  come; 

Meanwhile,  tense  lips,  be  dumb, 
And  thou,  tempestuous  heart,  await  the  end. 

Time,  thou  art  wise 

To  hide  from  mortal  eyes 

Thy  secrets.    Not  for  me 

To  know  what  is  to  be. 
I  love  my  memories  of  yesterday. 

To-day's  compelling  bond 

Has  Morrow's  hope  beyond. 

Then  Time,  stay  not  thy  flight; 

I'll  bid  this  world  good-night, 
That  brighter  world  good-morning,  when  I  may! 

8  57 


WHEN  I  PASS  ON 

WHEN  I  pass  on,  I  hope  to  leave 
Green  memories  behind  me. 

I  would  not  have  my  dear  ones  grieve; 

Rather  they'd   fain  the  wish  achieve 
Some  day  to  come  and  find  me; 

Some  day  with  philosophic  mind 

To  sense  the  Beckoning  Finger; 
Eager  to  find  what  they  may  find, 
Willing  to  leave  the  world  behind, 
Without  a  wish  to  linger; 

Hoping  to  meet  in  the  Beyond 

Their  loved  ones  gone  before  them; 
Giving  and  taking  greetings  fond, 
Keen  to  renew  the  welcome  bond 
Such  meeting  shall  restore  them; 

First  passing  on  to  those  who'll  miss 

Their  going,  some  such  token 
Of  cheer  and  courage  as  is  this, 
To  emphasize  the  parting  kiss 
When  "Au  revoir"  is  spoken. 

When  I  pass  on!    How  I  receive 

My  call,  or  when  it  find  me 

I  care  not,  so  that  no  one  grieve, 

And  so  that  passing  I  may  leave 

Green  memories  behind  me. 

58 


FINIS? 

THERE  is  no  end  that  does  not  bring 
Beginning. 

Winter  ends  in  Spring; 
Night's  darkness  dying  meets  and  blends 
With  dawn;  the  mortal  in  us  ends 
In  immortality. 

Not  yet 

Failed  any  ending  to  beget 
A  potent  progeny  that  bore 
Unending  generations  more. 

****** 

So  with  my  book;  may  every  page 
Be  blest  with  happy  parentage 
To  fruitful  thoughts,  provoked  by  mine 
In  some  by-passer's  mind  to  shine. 

Thus  wishing,  let  me  not  pretend 
To  say  of  it, 

"THIS  is  THE  END." 


59 


IMMENSITY 

All  yesterday  the  ciouds  hung  low.  and  made 
Laborious  the  mere  attempt   to  breathe: 
Hut   while  I  slept  a  deluge  fell,   and  Night, 
The   clever    laundress,    tubbed   the    rain   and 

washed 
The  air  so  clear  that  now  a  whiff  of  it 

'Intoxicates,   and   foists  upon   my   mind 

'    Fancies  exuberant.    ]   find  myself 
Ascending  to  a  height  whence  I  behold 
The  earth,  a  mottled  ball,   revolve  below: 
Then  with  a  deeper  breath    I   seem  to  mount 
Above  the  sun,  and  see  it  satellite 
To  a  more  distant  sun  ;  that.  too.  I  pass, 
Determined  to  encompass  utter  space. 
On.  on  I  speed,  but  cannot  near  the  bound; 
And  by  and  by  Conviction  conies  to  me 
That  breathe   I   deeper  still,  and  fly  as  fast 
As  light   itself,    through    everlasting  time 
I  could  not :  W.  C.  HODMAN" 

August  17,   1010. 


Thanks  for  the  things  that  I  have  not ! 
If  I  had  gold  or  gems  or  land,   • 
The  friends  who  clasp  my  empty  hand 

Might   envy   then   my   better   lot.  . 

Thanks  for  the  fame  I  do  not  want ! 

Malevolence  ignores  the  name 

That  does  not  court  the  world's  acclaim 
Nor  seek  its  own  deserts  to  vaunt. 

Thanks  for  the  joys  that  I  have  lost, 
That  dearer  grow  as  time  goes  by, 
For  every  day  the  more  am  I 

Aware  of  what  the  losing  cost. 

Thanks  for  the  love  I  must  resign 
When  all  is  over  ;  for  I  know 
That  I,  when  conies  my  time  to  go, 

Shall  still  be  glad  that  it  was  mine  ! 

W.  C.  RODMAN. 


(Third    H« 


150  Tub 

at  $2.5' 


50  white  gabardine  skirts,  at  $1; 
all  sizes.  A  number  have  been  twic 

100  skirts  at  $5  are  white  gat 
styles  among:  them  and  a  few  in  la 

(Kasi 


First  Fall  J 


contented  at  home  with  one's  feet  in 
of  Juliets  or  "Comfys." 

All  children  like  house  slippers 
wear  iherr  they  feel  grown  up.  Ant 
wearing  them  they  are  more  apt  to 
house  slippers  stand  for.  And  now  wi 

House    slippers   stand   for   comf 
And,  after  all,  the  hectic  and  more  < ; 
ment  that  a  big  city  offers,  there  is  i 
ant  home. 

What  expresses  the  Christmas  s ; 
the  homelike  house  slipper? 

Men's  house  slippers,  .$1  to  $6. 
Women's  house  slippers,  85c  to  J 
Children's  house  slippers,  $1.15  t 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


&  JAN  111971 

BdONBJ 

RENEWAL  JAN" 


FormLQ — 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 


os- 

i-OS  ANGELES 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAC  L  TY 


A    001  247  542    2 


PLEASE  DO   NOT    REMOVE 
THIS   BOOK  CARD=! 


University  Research  Library 


